


She Rides the Storm

by dragonifyoudare



Series: Archived [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual aromantic character, F/M, I'm not that mean, Novelization, major character death is not Cullen or the Inquisitor, minor F!Lavellan/Josephine, minor Kremius Aclassi/Lace Harding, protagonist is not good at maging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare
Summary: [old attempt at a DAI novelization]





	1. Prelude

Start with this: It should have been Cordelia.

Cordelia Trevelyan knew politics. She knew religion. She was of high birth and good character and she never shied away from a challenge. It should have been Cordelia.

But Cordelia died. She went into the opening ceremony of the Grand Conclave at the side of Grand Cleric Frieda of Ostwick. She sat perfectly composed as the assembled crowd grew restless waiting for the divine. As it became apparent that something was wrong, she sent the grand cleric’s secretary to discreetly inquire as to the cause of the delay. She waited patiently.

She died with the rest of them.

This is who survived: Brigid Trevelyan, the younger sister raised on the country estate, who believed in her big sister, in her family, in the Maker, and never expected to have anything more on her plate than hunting expeditions and family accounts... and Signy.

Signy of no surname, raised by her elven mother in the alienage of Ostwick until her magic came to her. Signy who argued as hard for mage freedom as Brigid Trevelyan argued to come with her sister to the Conclave. Signy who didn’t know what to do with that freedom when she got it.

Signy, who had spotted Cordelia Trevelyan earlier that day and could have sworn she was looking in a mirror, if it weren’t for the nose, the hair.

Signy whose mother told her she looked like her father, but never told her that father’s name.

So this is who the Inquisition has to work with, instead of Cordelia Trevelyan: the uncultured country girl with her bow and her abacus, and her bastard sister, who wakes up with her hand burning with a magic she never studied hard enough to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's not much to say yet, but I'm planning to post Chapter One in the next twenty-four hours! I do want to let you know that if you want to know who the major character death is before getting deeper, feel free to contact me on tumblr. I'm dragonifyoudare there too.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful mutual beta [x_medea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea), who even on this short prelude had valuable input.


	2. Down Comes the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In JUST under the wire! Sorry this took so long.

Waking up in a cold, damp cell didn’t surprise Signy. Being told they had her sister as well did. When she woke, she was able to get that much out of one of the guards. He’d clammed up at a glare from one of his fellows, though. Now four of them stood around her silently, swords drawn.

She kept trying.

“Where am I?” she asked.

Silence.

“Why am I here?”

Silence.

“I don’t know who you think I am. I don’t know what you think I’ve done. I certainly don’t know who you think this ‘sister’ of mine is, since I don’t have any sisters. Could I _please_ talk to someone in charge?”

Two of the guards exchanged a look, but still there was silence.

Before Signy could ask anything else, the door to the cell opened. A woman with short dark hair and sharp, elegant features entered. She carried a sword, but at least it wasn’t drawn.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” the woman said, without preamble. If Signy had been standing, she would have been a little taller than this woman, but she wasn’t standing. She was sitting as comfortably as she could manage, which wasn’t very, and her wrists were shackled. The woman was more than tall enough to loom. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

Signy’s eyes widened. That… that couldn’t be true. There had been hundreds of people attending the opening ceremony today. She’d been there herself, with Grand Cleric Martine… hadn’t she? She found she couldn’t remember precisely, and that frightened her almost as much as the naked steel around her.

The woman’s implication hit Signy.

“You think I’m _responsible?"_

Panic shot through Signy. She’d been deceiving enough people recently that the closer they looked at her, the more guilty she would seem.

And then her hand flared to life with pain and a garish green light. The other woman grabbed her shackled wrist as Signy gritted her teeth through the pain, glad she wasn’t standing.

“Explain _this!”_

“I can’t,” Signy hissed. It was magic, and it felt of the Fade, but other than that… never before had she so wished she had applied herself harder to her arcane studies.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

The door creaked open and admitted another woman, with red hair peeking out of a hood drawn low. She drew the dark-haired woman aside, giving Signy a moment to think as the pain faded back to a distant ache.

She tried not to spend it on all those deaths, but it was impossible. Maker, so many people. If Lydia had been there, she would be dead now. It hit Signy like a punch to the gut.

_Don’t think about that._

What about the guard’s claim that they had her sister? They thought she was someone else, someone specific.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” she said, loudly and clearly, “but I’m not her. My name is Signy.”

The two women turned back to her and the redhead approached.

“Alright, Signy,” she said. Her tone was much more calm than her companion’s, almost conciliatory. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Signy gulped. “I.. I was running. Something was chasing me, and there was a woman, reaching out to me.” It was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the cell, and it was frustratingly unclear. She had impressions and flashes - the sound of something skittering, climbing, her lungs burning with exertion. The moment she tried to examine them more closely they seemed to slip away.

“And before that?”

“I…  Grand Cleric Martine’s secretary was ill. She asked me to come take notes. Then...”

She remembered that Ayani had helped her gather writing supplies and put on a dress more suited to a secretary than a maid, but after that there was only a strange sensation of lost time, and then the vague recollection of being somewhere else.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “I can’t remember what happened next.”

“You were a member of Martine’s staff?”

“Yes.” That was true, but far enough from the whole truth as to constitute a lie of omission.

"Go on to the forward camp, Leliana,” said the dark-haired woman with a sigh, finally giving Signy a name to work with. “I will bring her.”

Leliana left, glancing back once as her companion knelt to uncuff Signy’s wrists. One of the guards left the cell briefly and returned with a tunic, breeches, and a quilted leather coat.

“We’re heading into the valley,” said the dark-haired woman. “Change.”

Signy looked nervously at the other guards. The one who had spoken earlier, at least, was male. She decided now wasn’t the time to argue and changed as quickly as she could. The hem of her dress, she noticed, was torn and dirty. When she was done, a guard resecured her hands, this time only with rope. Another mage could have burned that away. Signy could have burned that away, if she’d actually practiced.

“What happened?” Signy asked once the guard had finished. “What went wrong?”

“It will be easier to show you,” said the woman. One of the guards opened the cell door and the woman took Signy’s shoulder in a tight grip, then gave her a light shove toward the door.

Outside the cell was a dark corridor, and at the end of the corridor a short set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was the Chantry of Haven. Signy recognized the statue of Andraste from the service she’d attended with the rest of the grand cleric’s staff.

“Who did you think I was? That guard said you had my sister,” she asked her captor. The woman’s gauntleted fingers were digging painfully into the flesh of Signy’s shoulder.

There was no reply, so Signy tried another tack.

“Can I at least know your name?”

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast,” the woman said. “Seeker of the Chantry.”

A Seeker of Truth. They were aligned with the Templars, but the Ostwick Circle hadn’t had any dealings with them while Signy was there. She’d need to keep a sharp eye on this one.

“You said your name was Signy. Signy what?” said Cassandra Pentaghast.

“Just Signy. No surname.” It was odd that she’d expect one, given how uncommon they were among peasant families. Most people got by with ‘Jim the Cobbler’ or such in the Free Marches.

Pentaghast grunted enigmatically.

There was yet another armed guard at the large oaken doors of the chantry. He opened them, and Signy stepped out into freezing cold. There was some snow on the ground, but the sky was crystal clear.  There was nothing to hide the green vortex swirling overhead. It was a hole in the sky, a rip in reality. Signy froze, not feeling the cold in her shock. How big was it? It didn’t really matter. Nothing like that, large or small, should exist.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the Fade that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Signy started to turn to face Pentaghast, to tell her that she only had more questions now, but then the vortex pulsed. Signy’s left hand flared again and her knees buckled. The pain wasn’t the worst she’d ever felt, but it was bad, and there was an otherness to it, as though it were pulsing to a heartbeat not her own. She curled her body over her hand, the cold, wet ground barely registering.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“And you think I did this to myself?” Signy growled. “I do _not_ have a deathwish, Seeker, and if I did I wouldn’t use magic to do it.”

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if I’m not responsible?” Signy climbed to her feet.

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? Fixing this is the only way.”

“How?”

“I cannot explain. But it is our only chance, and yours.”

Signy _hated_ cryptic answers, but she didn’t see much of a choice. She only needed to look at her hand, which was still glowing, to know something was deeply wrong. The hole in the sky was just the finishing touch.

“I understand. I’ll do what I can, Seeker. Whatever it takes.”

The Seeker helped her up. Though her fingers still dug into Signy’s shoulder, she walked beside her as they made their way through the village of Haven. It had seemed a dreary place to Signy since arriving a few days ago, but now it felt oppressive in its [adjective]ness, squalid rather than quaint. Eyes followed them and they were not friendly. Signy focused her gaze downward, telling herself she was watching her footing on the half-frozen muddy ground.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn Divine Justinia. Her Conclave was a chance for peace. Now she is dead, and their delegations with her.”

Signy looked up.

“I’m not a murderer, Seeker,” she said.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” Pentaghast said.

Signy realized there was a familiar face in the crowd behind the Seeker. Ayani’s expression was different from the rest of them, puzzled rather than enraged. The blotchy skin of the elf’s face was marred by a nasty bruise on one cheek.

Then the town gates opened and Pentaghast ushered Signy through. Only when they had closed behind them did the Seeker take out her belt knife and cut Signy’s bonds with a single quick motion. Signy didn’t want to think about how sharp that knife must be.

“Come. It is not far,” said the Seeker, not waiting to see if Signy followed.

They went across a stone bridge and up a hill, Signy trying to keep up with the other woman without slipping. It was hard. She had much better physical endurance after her time on the road than she had when she left the Ostwick Circle, but the Seeker was a trained warrior. Next to her, Signy felt like a old nag trying to keep up with a destrier. Above them, the Breach crackled, giving off green lightning and spewing out darker, more solid things that Signy couldn’t make out.

Halfway up the hill, the Breach and Signy’s hand flared again.

“It’s coming faster, isn’t it?” Signy said through gritted teeth. She managed not to fall this time, but she had to lean on Pentaghast to keep herself upright.

Pentaghast nodded.

“It was not so bad at first. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

How long ago had ‘at first’ been?

“How did I survive the blast?” she asked, to keep herself from wondering how long she had been in that cell.

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious."

They had come to a bridge over a frozen river, and Pentaghast made a hand gesture Signy couldn’t interpret to a soldier standing at the other end as they started across. He nodded and turned to his fellows--

And then the bridge collapsed.

Signy thought she saw something hit it from above, a chunk of something spewed out of the Breach. She wasn’t sure of anything though, except that suddenly she was falling amid rubble and debris, and then she hit the ice. There was a moment of shocked nothing. Then there was sheer panic as spiderweb cracks spread out from a chunk of stone that had landed next to her. Signy scrabbled madly at the ice and managed to get to her knees just as something else hit the ice a few yards ahead of her.

It was a bent-backed creature of dark sinew and ragged cloth, with hands that were all claw and a single glowing eye. That eye was focused on Signy. Ice shot through her spine and her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

Then the Seeker rammed her shield into the demon with all her weight behind it and the two of them went skidding across the ice. Signy pulled herself to her feet on a crate that had fallen beside her, watching dumbly as Pentaghast bashed at the demon with the edge of her shield.

 _She lost her sword,_ Signy realized. She should help. She had to do something.

But if she tried to cast into the melee she was just as likely to hurt Pentaghast as the demon.

 _Damn me, why didn’t I_ practice!

An apprentice ten years her junior should have the precision to cast a fire spell on the demon only. Signy couldn’t.

The crate was full of spears and bucklers. Signy grabbed a spear -- it was surprisingly heavy -- and charged the demon, trying to keep her balance on the ice.

Her attack went wild when she tripped at the last moment. The spear grazed the demon’s lower body, just barely. It was enough to get its attention as Signy stumbled to a stop on the ice, one leg slipping out from under her.

The demon loomed over her and she knew with crystal clarity that she would die if she didn’t do something. She gritted her teeth and gathered fire in the fist opposite the one holding the spear.

Before she could finish the spell, Pentaghast brought her shield down on the demon’s head with a blow of bone-cracking strength. As it [disintegrated], the demon hissed, a sound between a scream and a sigh.

Signy let the fire in her fist go out, leaving no sign but a dent in the ice beneath her hand. She was proud that she wasn’t shaking.

Pentaghast was still standing over her, and with nothing but the ash and ichor left by the demon between them, Signy was very conscious of it when the Seeker’s focus turned to her.

“Drop your weapon. Now.”

Signy’s hand started to release the spear, but she stopped it.

“If you’re going to lead me through a demon-infested valley,” she said, “you’ll have to trust me.”

“Give me one reason to trust you,” said Pentaghast, taking a step forward. She had gotten the knack of balancing on the ice more quickly than Signy.

Signy’s hands _were_ shaking now. If she could kill a demon with it, Pentaghast could bring that shield down on Signy’s skull with enough force to end her.

 _She needs me,_ Signy reminded herself. She lifted her chin and stared the Seeker straight in the eye.

“Because my life is on the line.”

There was a pause, during which Signy forced herself to hold the Seeker’s gaze. Pentaghast was the first to look away.

“You’re right.” Pentaghast sighed. “I cannot expect you to be defenseless.” She lowered the shield, and Signy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. And then, wonder of wonders, Pentaghast smiled, just a little. “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

She helped Signy to her feet.

If they were going to get through another attack like that, they each needed to know what the other could do. Signy forced herself to speak past the lump that formed in her throat.

“I’m not entirely helpless,” she said, and fire blossomed in her fist once more -- a larger and more intense flame than she had intended. She extinguished it with a yelp, but not before singeing the cuff of her leather coat. “I’m a mage. Just not a very good one.

Pentaghast’s smile had disappeared. “Grand Cleric Martine,” she said flatly, “wanted a mage to take her notes?”

“She didn’t know, and I’m sure we’ll have a lengthy conversation about that later, but right now we need to search for survivors,” Signy said, lowering her hand and making for the remains of the bridge. Pentaghast stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” Pentaghast said, taking a spear from the box. “As much as it pains me, there is no time. Our soldiers will have heard the collapse from below, and will send someone. You and I must go, and quickly. Maker knows what we will face.”

She was right. Or at least, she was right as long as Signy’s strange condition was actually going to be useful. Signy turned away from the debris and followed Pentaghast up the riverbank.

They faced nothing more than snowbanks and icy crossings for a time, but along the way they passed signs of fighting and more than one armored body. It was hard to say how many demons might have been killed, but at least a dozen soldiers lay dead in the snow along their path.

The trek took a toll on Signy. She was sweating beneath her clothes, and the freezing air cooled the sweat quickly, leaving her chilled, not to mention the physical strain. Finally, they came to a the last rise before the forward camp, The Seeker assured her there would be supplies there, including potions for tired feet.

As they crested the rise, the air before them ripped open and green light lanced out. The beams of light left demons in their wake, and Signy had to keep herself from fleeing.

The camp was situated on a bridge with gates on either side. There were only two guards outside the gate as the rift opened, and they were taken by surprise and killed nearly instantly. Transparent figures, like floating torsos made of fog, glided around the gate. Screams sounded from beyond. More solid demons, like the ones from earlier, emerged from the rift and started pounding on the gate. Pentaghast ran past Signy and had one of the demons down before any of the others took notice, but after that they swarmed toward her. Signy’s stomach dropped. What could she do, though, without frying the Seeker in the process?

Suddenly a spear of ice shot down from the top of the gate and impaled a demon, followed by a hail of arrows. Signy tore her gaze away from the demons to find a group of people above the gate. One cast a potent fire spell and a demon went up in smoke. More arrows followed, this time in a coordinated volley.

“Hurry, before more come through!” shouted a voice from above the gate. It took Signy a moment to identify the speaker as the mage, and a moment more to realize he was addressing her. She couldn’t make out much about him from here, but he was pale, with a bare scalp and a build that made her think he was an elf. A moment later he was out of view, back behind the gates.

_Do what before more come through?_

Pentaghast clearly knew what she was doing, not only with that spear but in a tactical sense. She didn’t try to take the demons down one by one, but concentrated on getting them off the gates and into a better position for the archers. And as for her skill with the spear…

It was a sight to see. There were nearly a half-dozen demons out there, but the Seeker wove between them with something just too brutally visceral to be called grace. She pushed them back, sidestepping and darting between them to keep herself out of their range. And with the demons away from the Seeker, Signy was finally able to do something other than hold her spear in front of her clumsily and hope she wasn’t noticed.

Lightning had always been the easiest type of primal magic for Signy. Her fires either sputtered or flared out of control, her ice never held its shape, her attempts to form stone crumbled. She didn’t have any talent there, and she had never put in much effort. Lightning though, came naturally.

Of course, talent didn’t make up for lack of practice. The first bolt Signy threw went wild, hitting a demon next to the one she had aimed for. It was close, though, close enough that she was preparing to risk another bolt when the gates slammed open.

A dozen armored men and women charged into the clutch of demons as Signy just barely managed to halt her spell. The demons were quickly overwhelmed, but Signy could see that behind the soldiers on the bridge lay ununiformed dead. But she wasn’t needed, and she wouldn’t be any use if she was, so she ducked behind a nearby boulder to wait the fight out.

Someone was already there. A dwarf with a crossbow nearly shot her in the gut when he leaned out to loose a bolt, but he managed to yank his crossbow up and the bolt sailed past her head to lodge in a snowbank. Signy dashed past him and found her own rock. She’d already doubled her lifetime 'brushes with death count’ in the last hour and she had no desire to go any further.

She peeked out from behind her boulder just as a group of soldiers finished the last demon, piercing it with in three different places with their swords. Pentaghast had taken a wound at some point, and was leaning heavily on the gate.

But why was the gate closed again?

The mage’s words came back to Signy: ‘before more come through.’ She looked at the rift in the air.

_Oh shit._

Did he really thing she could do something about this? She was useless as a mage, and this was no normal magic. Yet Pentaghast and this man seemed to think Signy could help, and only Signy.  She looked at her hand and found it glowing faintly. She could feel something building, crackling under the surface.

 _I have to do something._ But what?

Well, not hiding behind a rock would be a start. Signy stepped out into the open and looked around for the mage. There was something building in her hand, a tension that didn’t touch her muscles but was still somehow palpable.

She found him just as the pain started, and before she could say a word he grabbed her wrist and thrust her hand toward the rift. At first nothing happened, and Signy felt panic rising in her gut as green sparks shot out of the rift. Then something in her hand, or maybe in the Fade, _twisted_ , pieces sliding back into their proper places. Signy didn’t know how else to describe it. When it was over, the rift was closed.

Signy felt like she had been stretched, pulled in a dozen directions, and suddenly released. Beside her, the mage -- he was indeed an elf -- looked up at her, something appraising in his eyes.

“We are clear for the moment. Well done,” he said.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” agreed the dwarf from the other boulder.

Signy barely heard them. The light in her hand had faded, but a soft glow still emanated from her palm.

“What did you do?” she said, turning to the elf.

”I did nothing. The credit is yours,” he said with a solemn nod. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”  
  
“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” said Pentaghast. Her wound, a shallow gash to her upper arm, was roughly bandaged now. From the worried look of the Chantry sister who stood behind her with flask in hand, Signy assumed that she was refusing further treatment.  
  
“Possibly,” the elf replied. Then he turned to Signy. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Well. No pressure, then.  
  
“Good to know!” said the dwarf, who had emerged from his boulder to stand with the three of them. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He gave Signy a jaunty grin. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”

“Signy,” she said, nodding to him. She knew she’d heard that name before. Had she read something he’d written?

“Come," said Pentaghast to Signy, ignoring the dwarf. “We must meet with Leliana.”

“What a great idea!” Varric piped up.

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“Have you seen what’s ahead, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore, and I don’t think the good Chancellor is likely to give you an honor guard. You need me,” Varric said.

Pentaghast ignored him and went to help open the gates, one hinge of which had been damaged.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live,” the elf said.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,'” Varric said.

“How?” Signy asked. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. What Circle are you from?

"He’s an apostate,” Varric said. “They tend to know weird shit that Circle mages don’t. You’re a Circle Mage, I take it? You don’t seem likely to be a noblewoman.”

 _They thought I was a noble?_ Signy had to hold back a laugh. She was afraid it would come out hysterical.

"Technically, all mages are now apostates. But yes, my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage,” Solas said. “ I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

Then do you know how this all started? What could have made that? Signy asked, waving at the Breach.

Solas shook his head.

“I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

With a crash, the damaged door came free and fell to the stones.

“Come,” Pentaghast called. “They are waiting.”

Signy got the feeling that Chancellor Roderick already disliked her, but he was significantly less polite once he found out who she was -- or rather, who she wasn’t.

“Chancellor Roderick, this is --” Leliana started.

“I know who she is,” the chancellor interrupted. He was a middle-aged man, with a pale face lined from stress. “Lady Cordelia, I regret that I must order you be taken to Val Royeaux to face justice. I will see to it that Bann Trevelyan is informed of the circumstances as quickly as possible.”

She recognized the name Trevelyan. They were prominent nobles in Ostwick who had produced a few mages in previous generations.

“You do not have jurisdiction here, Chancellor,” Pentaghast said before Signy could respond. “You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat.”

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” Roderick nearly shouted.  
  
Leliana, her hood drawn back and a quiver slung over her shoulder, appeared from among the soldiers milling around a table spread with maps and charts.

“We _all_ serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” she said.  
  
“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter.”

“So none of you are actually in charge here,” Signy said, a sinking feeling in her gut.

“You killed everyone who was in charge!” the chancellor shouted, drawing stares from the soldiers that quickly turned toward Signy. One or two hands dropped to sword hilts. Roderick inhaled, calming himself before he continued. “My lady, I apologize, but you stand accused of --”

“I’m not your lady,” said Signy. “My name is Signy, I was a member Circle of Magi at Ostwick, and I am tired of being dragged around this valley with no idea what’s happening!”

“A mage. Better and better. Call a retreat, Seeker,” the chancellor said. More than anything else, he sounded tired. “Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” Pentaghast knew her opponent was flagging.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers,” Roderick said. He turned to look toward the side of the bridge where two chantry sisters and a brother were laying the dead out side-by-side.

Pentaghast followed his gaze, and for a moment Signy was afraid she would give in. So far, the strange magic on her hand was the only thing they’d seen affect these phenomenon. As much as she didn’t want to face ‘justice,’ she found she was even more motivated by fear of what would happen if this thing wasn’t stopped.

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route,” Pentaghast said.  
  
“But not the safest.” said Leliana. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”  
  
Pentaghast shook her head. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”  
  
“Listen to me. Abandon this now, before more lives are lost.” There was still melancholy in Chancellor Roderick’s voice, but any hint of capitulation was gone.  
  
"Listen to you? You --”

“Like it or not I am the one in authority --”

“Chantry law does not --”

They went on like that for a time, talking over one another at increasing volumes.

The Breach flared again, and the mark on Signy’s hand with it. She let out a yell that was half pain, half frustration. For a blessed moment, Roderick, Pentraghast and Leliana all fell silent. Signy pounced on that opportunity.

“We charge,” said Signy. “A distraction implies there’s a commander to distract. If these things have a commander, we’re already in much deeper trouble than we know. Either way, I’m not going to survive long enough for your trial if we wait much longer. Whatever happens, happens now.”

And they listened. Maker be praised, they listened.

“We will need to bring everyone left in the valley,” Pentaghast said. “Everyone.” She went to join the soldiers at the map table and started issuing orders.  
  
“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” Roderick said, but Signy was the only one to hear him.

Later, Signy wouldn’t remember much of the charge. She would think back on it and be surprised that her first real military engagement had left so little impression on her mind. Then again, at that point she had little understanding of the melee around her. It was a whirlwind, and she was in the eye of the storm, protected by Pentaghast, Tethras and Solas. Soldiers came in and out of view around them, in small groups, killing and dying. The air smelled of blood and something else, a sharp smell that she was starting to associate with demons. Finally, they came to the rift that was sending forth the demons they faced.

Closing it came no easier this time. Signy fought with it, feeling as though she were wrestling with something ponderous in the Fade. She managed it, but more soldiers died as she struggled.

When it was done and the demons dispatched, Signy quickly caught her breath, but the others, who had done the actual fighting, stood panting.

“Sealed, as before,” Solas said. He had recovered his breath even before Cassandra. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

Signy wished she wasn’t so certain his confidence was misplaced.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric said. That, on the other hand, was a sentiment she could get behind.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done,” a voice from behind Signy said. She whirled to find a man of about her own height standing there. He wore a full suit of armor and a mantle with rather ridiculous-looking fur around the collar. He had a handsome face, though. He was also important, if he was calling a Seeker of Truth by her first name.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” Pentaghast said. “This is the prisoner’s doing.” She nodded to Signy.

“Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” He looked her up and down appraisingly. His gaze lingered on her grip on her spear. She was probably holding it wrong.

“You’re not the only one hoping that,” Signy said. She might not have been the one fighting, but with all of today’s climbing she was getting too tired to rein in her tongue -- and that was to say nothing of mental exhaustion.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we,” the man said. He didn’t seem amused, but then neither was Signy. He turned to Pentaghast. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana has gone on ahead.”

Somewhere nearby, the screech of another demon sounded. This rift may have been closed, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other places they could get through.

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Pentaghast said. “Give us time, Commander.”  
  
The man -- the commander, apparently -- nodded.

“Maker watch over you – for all our sakes.”

The Temple of Sacred Ashes would be seared into Signy’s mind forever.

She had expected destruction, even carnage. But the bodies here… they weren’t bloodied and ripped. They were charred and fixed in place, in postures of terror. Some had begun to flee before whatever had done this had petrified them. Most hadn’t had time. All of them were desiccated, like the descriptions she'd read of embalmed Nevarran corpses. It was deeply, terribly _wrong._ The temple itself was mostly rubble, tinted green by the Breach’s light. Here and there, a section of a room would be intact: a bookcase, a painting, a fragment of tapestry.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was,” Pentaghast said, voice carefully steady.

Through the remains of a mostly intact section of corridor, they found Leliana. And beyond her, the Breach.

A rift was located directly below it, and it was hard to tell where the one’s light ended and the other’s began. Signy found herself stepping toward it. Behind her, Pentaghast and Leliana talked about positioning archers and other tactical matters, but Signy didn’t hear much. She couldn’t look away from the Breach, and the pulse of it filled her, beating like a second heart in her palm. It stretched through her veins, her muscles, her _mind_.

Pentaghast’s voice pulled her back to this world.

“This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

She wanted to tell her that it was too much, too big. Instead, she said “If I can get up there. I’m assuming you have a plan?”

“No,” Solas said, appearing at the Seeker’s side. "This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

Carefully, they made their way toward the rift. Signy spotted something then, red crystals erupting from sections of floor in the remains of the room below.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.” The voice came from everywhere at once, its timbre low and its accent unfamiliar. Signy nearly stumbled.

“What are we hearing?” Pentaghast said, voice low. There didn’t seem to be anyone but their party and the archers taking up position to hear her, but the feeling of this place didn’t encourage shouting.

“At a guess: The person who created the Breach,” Solas said. His voice was the same as always, calm and measured.

It looked like they’d have to skirt around what had been a gallery level to reach the stairs down into the room that contained the rift. It necessitated passing by the red crystals. Signy paused for a moment, examining them, but before she could get close, Varric grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head at her. He looked more frightened of the crystals than he had been of the demons.

The voice from the air spoke again: “Keep the sacrifice still.”

And then another voice, female, aged and scared: “Someone help me!”

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” This time Pentaghast didn’t speak softly.

“Keep moving, Seeker,” Varric said, and Signy thought it was a measure of Pentaghast’s shock that she did as he said without comment.

“What’s going on here?” Signy’s own voice said, coming from all around them as the others had. It sounded taut with fear and shock.

Pentaghast whirled on Signy.

“That was your voice --”  she started, but she was interrupted by a flash of light from the lower room.

Signy spun, expecting demons to have appeared from the rift, but instead, ghostly images materialized in the air.

A transparent image of an old woman hung in the air, her arms wrapped in red energy that held her in place. Something tall, shaped nearly like a human, loomed over her. A qunari, maybe? But its eyes glowed red, and nothing Signy had ever read had said anything about that. The rest of the figure was shadowed, darkness clinging to it. Near a phantom door stood an image of a tall woman with a dark braid, wearing a green dress and a surcoat with Grand Cleric Martine’s crest: Signy herself.

_Why don’t I remember any of this?_

“Run while you can!” the first of the images said. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder,” said the looming figure. It spoke with the same deep, accented voice that had rung out earlier. “Kill her. Now.” Signy looked around madly, but she couldn’t see who the figure might have been addressing, but she saw no one else. The images vanished in another flash of light.

Pentaghast grabbed Signy by the shoulder again, whirling her around so they were facing each other. Signy was getting very tired of being grabbed.

“You were there!” she shouted, the solemnity of the place forgotten. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember!” Signy hissed.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” said Solas. He looked for a moment like he would pull Pentaghast’s hand off Signy, but stopped at the last moment. That was good. From what Signy had seen of the treatment of elves outside the Circle, someone would probably have objected, even if Pentaghast didn’t.

“This rift is not sealed,” he continued, “but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“How?" Signy said flatly. “I barely closed the first two. I don’t understand what I’m doing at all.”

“Try,” Solas said. “I think you are capable of more than you realize.”

Signy bit back a retort. There was no other way to do this. She would have to be enough. She didn’t feel like enough.

Hesitantly, she descended the stairs into the room below. The carpet, once ornate, had been reduced to charred scraps. There were twisted hunks of metal attached to the walls that might have been candelabras.

The pulse of this rift was quieter, calmer. Signy could barely feel it. She tried to breath in time with it and to quiet her mind as her instructors had taught her during her first days at the Circle.

There was a thread there, invisible but present. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. But then, there weren’t really words for a lot of things to do with magic, only approximations. Lydia had taught her to use whatever terminology helped her in practice and worry about precision later. So, there was a thread. Tentatively, Signy reached out with her abilities and gave it a gentle tug.

The rift ripped open with an explosion of light that left Signy blinded and a flash of pain that brought her to her knees yet again. When she could see again, a single demon stood beneath the rift.

It was humanoid in shape, but massive, three times as tall as Signy easily, and its hulking limbs were covered in spikes. A pride demon. Maker help them, a pride demon.

Signy ducked behind a pile of what had once been furniture, trembling. The things they’d been fighting earlier were, if she recalled directly, relatively simple minor manifestations. This was something else, intelligent and vicious. Something she had never thought she would face.

 _You never expected to face any demons after your Harrowing,_ she told herself. _Stop cowering and do something about it._

She allowed herself three deep breaths and then, still shaking, looked out from behind her pile of charred wood. 

It wasn’t good. Two of Leliana’s archers were already down. The demon laughed as it swiped at a third, knocking her from her position on the stairway to the floor below. The woman tried to crawl away, dragging a broken leg behind her, but the demon finished her with a bolt of lightning, leaving only patch of soot on the ground.

Signy had to get that rift closed, and fast. She stood and, staying low, darted toward the rift. The closer she got, the more strongly she could feel the beat of the Fade, the more clearly she could perceive the rift with her arcane senses. She could almost, _almost_ see what she should do.

She just needed to twist it like… like…  
  
_Like a key in a lock_ , she thought, and suddenly the spell, or whatever it was, made sense. She reached out mentally and turned her hand just so. The rift vanished. The demon fell to its knees and let out a wail. And Signy fell into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had extra beta help on this chapter. My mutal beta, [x_medea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea), was wonderful as always. I also got a readover from [CherryMilkshake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake)  
> and [Jazzy_Kandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzy_Kandra/pseuds/Jazzy_Kandra)  
> provided extensive and valuable comments from the perspective of someone not so obsessed with Dragon Age.


	3. Conversations and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and many hugs to my wonderful beta, [x_medea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea)! I know it took forever to get this chapter up, but I'm starting to hit my stride and really dig into Signy, so I hope it's worth it.

“I want to see her!”

Someone was yelling somewhere nearby. Signy tried to ignore it. She was in a bed, with a blanket and a very nice pillow, and, she decided fuzzily, no intention of waking up properly until absolutely forced to do so.

There was a thump, and a gust of cold air invaded Signy’s comfort. She pulled the blanket up over her head.

“My lady, you must calm down.” That was a different voice, masculine, and Signy really hoped it wasn’t addressing her. She’d thought they were past the ‘my lady’ confusion.

Someone yanked the blanket back and the freezing cold jolted Signy fully into wakefulness.

She opened her eyes to find a familiar face staring down at her. Familiar, because it was similar to her own, especially around the eyes – pale gray and sort of almond-shaped – and the shape of the nose. Signy stared back.The woman was maybe three or four years younger than her, with curly black hair and a bumper crop of freckles.

“You,” the woman said, sounding stricken, “are not Cordelia.”

“I thought we’d established that,” Signy replied groggily.

The woman turned without another word and stormed out.

Signy stared after her, as did the man who had spoken before. It was the officer they had encountered during the charge toward the Temple.

“That was the sister, wasn’t it?” Signy said.

“I’m afraid so,” he said.

Signy groaned. This was  _ not  _ where she wanted to be right now. Then again, where did she think she could be that was better? She couldn’t go back to Grand Cleric Martine’s retinue. She certainly couldn’t go back to what was left of the Circle, or, even more so, to the Alienage in Ostwick.

“Are we still in danger?” Signy asked. She started to sit up, realized she was wearing only a nightdress, and sank back down.

“Not so much as we were. The Breach has stopped expanding, as, I am told, has the mark on your hand,” the officer said.

Signy glanced at the hand in question. At the moment it looked completely normal, but she could feel… something, catching at the fabric of the Veil.

“But?” she said, trying to focus on more immediate things.

“But... it is not fully closed, and the the smaller rifts have not showed any change,” the officer said.

It hadn’t worked. She had been so sure it would, at the end. It had felt so  _ right... _

“The elven apostate – ”

“His name is Solas,” Signy said numbly. 

“Solas does not believe they will do so on their own until the Breach is fully sealed.”

Signy’s head, already achy, started to pound.

“I did everything I could, ser. I don’t know what else can be done,” she said. Then, more quietly, “It nearly killed me, didn’t it?” That somehow felt more real now than it had when there were demons howling for her blood.

He nodded grimly. “We have an idea about how to proceed,” he said. “I would rather we not discuss it without Lady Cassandra and Leliana. They’re probably both in the chantry.”

“Then the chantry it is.”

There were a few seconds of awkward silence.

“I need to get dressed,” she said. “Unless you need to supervise that?”

“Oh! Maker’s breath, no, of course not!” He hightailed it out of the cabin, blushing.

Signy lay in bed for a few moments longer, trying to calm her headache. It didn’t work, which wasn’t surprising, since it likely had more to do with dehydration than strain. She had a feeling she’d been asleep for a long time. Again. She threw off the blankets and, wincing at the cold, cast about for something to wear.

There was a dress laid out for her, but it was too small. In a chest at the foot of the bed, however, were trousers and a few shirts. She dressed in those, making a mental note to track down the owner and apologize later – assuming she was free to wander around the village. At least, she thought they were back in the village. The timber walls of this cabin looked depressingly similar to the one she’d shared with Ayani and Felicie, a third member of Grand Cleric Martine’s staff, in the days leading up to the Conclave.

She found the boots she’d been given for the hike to the Breach by the door. Though she hadn’t noticed the blisters on her heels as they formed, she was very much aware of them now, and of where the raw skin rubbed against the boots. Well, she’d just have to put up with it. There was also a walking stick, for which Signy was grateful. She ached all over, either from the hike through the mountains or from being in bed far too long. Probably both.

Signy opened the door, expecting to find the officer standing outside, perhaps with a guard or two.

There was a crowd of people outside her door, many of them praying. When they caught sight of her, a murmur swept through the crowd and a few people knelt down, right there in the snow.

Signy closed the door.

_ What in the Maker’s grace? _

There was a knock. Signy opened the door, just a crack, to see the officer. He looked exasperated.

Leaning toward the crack, he said, “You can’t hide in there all day.”

Signy supposed she couldn’t. She opened the door further. If anyone in the crowd wasn’t staring at her before, they were now.

The officer offered Signy his arm, but she ignored it and leaned on the stick she’d found.  Grasping it in her marked hand gave her an odd feeling, like touching the vibrating string of a lute.  As the two of them made their way through a the crowd to the chantry, Signy tried to ignore the way people looked at her, the whispers that followed her. 

She failed.

 

The guards outside the Chantry let them in without a word. When the officer, who had given his name as Cullen, opened the door at the end of the nave, Chancellor Roderick was in the middle of a rant. At the sight of Signy, he stopped between one syllable and the next, eyes snapping to the walking stick in her hand. A guard leaned out from beside the door to see what was going on. Signy opened her mouth to say that she wasn’t going to use it to turn anyone into a toad, but the Chancellor spoke first.

“Seize her! I want her thrown in the cells with that damned elf until we can transport her to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that, and leave us,” said Cassandra Pentaghast’s voice from deeper in the room. The guard looked to Cullen for confirmation. When the officer nodded, he left, giving Signy a respectful nod as he did so. At least, it looked respectful with his visor down. It was hard to tell.

Signy had never seen the back rooms of a chantry before. In fact, until a few months ago, she’d only ever been in the chapel of the Ostwick Circle, not even a real chantry. It was larger than she would have expected if this were just a room for putting on vestments. Maybe the mother had slept here too? Regardless, the bulk of the space was now occupied by a large table. Around it stood the chancellor, the seeker, Leliana, and an olive-complexioned woman in blue and gold.

“You walk a fine line, Seeker,” said Roderick as Signy and her companion entered the room. He was still keeping a wary eye on Signy’s walking stick.

“We have one person who can close these rifts,” Cullen said, “and you want to throw her in prison?”

Pentaghast nodded. “The Breach may be stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” She must have seen something of Signy’s exhaustion, because she gestured to a chair in one corner. “Perhaps you should have a seat, Mistress Signy.”  Her tone was less harsh than it had been before. Maybe she’d had time to calm down.

Signy, who was much more tired than her simple walk through the village should have merited, nodded gratefully. She hesitated before sitting down, however. She couldn’t afford to be pushed to the margin of this discussion. She dragged the chair over to the table, wincing as it scrapped against the floor, and only then took a seat.

“How long was I out?” she asked, addressing the room at large. She felt as though she had been in that bed for a year.

“Three days,” answered the Seeker.

“Three days. I nearly died, didn’t I?” The idea that activating that magical… what to call it? A mechanism? The idea that the magic had almost killed her felt like a betrayal, somehow. She’d figured out what to do, so why it gone so wrong?

The woman in gold opened her mouth to speak, but Roderick beat her to it. “Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

That set off something inside Signy. Beneath her aches and her exhaustion, she was found she was a different kind of tired. She was tired of being talked down to. She was tired of being dragged around by events. And she was very, very tired of being polite to people accusing her of mass murder.

“You,” she said, “are an idiot.”

“I beg your pardon?” the chancellor said.

“You pick the first person you suspect and you refuse to consider anything else. You ignore new facts. You don’t bother looking further, despite hundreds of people being dead. Even if I had been party to this, you’d be a fool not to look for accomplices. And, Chancellor,  _ I didn’t do this!” _

“What makes you think we haven’t investigated further? We have already identified another spy among Grand Cleric Martine’s servants. You expect us to think that a coincidence?”

“That’s not a very good bluff, Chancellor,” Signy said. She was too tired to mince words.

“Actually,” Cullen said, “there’s some merit to that part. We have a woman in the cells who admits to spying.”

It took Signy a moment to make the connection to the Chancellor’s earlier outburst.

“Ayani?” she said, naming the only elf on Martine’s staff. “The laundry maid? What would she spy on, the Grand Cleric’s knickers?”

“So, you know who I was referring to? That’s quite the guess,” Roderick said with a smirk. 

“Chancellor,” said Leliana flatly, “I may have advised  precautions be taken, but given what I know of clan Lavellan – and believe me, my research into anyone I expected to send agents to the Conclave was extensive – I would more readily suspect you of this tragedy than the elf.”

“You go too far,” said Roderick icily. “Perhaps the prisoner – ”

“My name is Signy,” Signy interrupted.

“– Perhaps the prisoner is correct that we should look further, but that does not mean she is not a suspect,” Roderick continued. He turned a glare on Signy and she had to make an effort not to squirm. It reminded her of several instructors back at the Circle.

“She is not a suspect,” Pentaghast said. “You were not at the Temple, Chancellor. You did not hear the Divine calling out to her, begging for her help.” Though the Seeker’s voice remained steady, Signy saw something in her eyes as she finished. This was not easy for her.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?” Roderick said. Signy rubbed at the palm of her left hand. She’d almost been able to ignore the strange sensation and intermittent glow for a while, even if it was only because of her other physical complaints.

“Providence,” said Pentaghast. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Signy bit her lip, discomfited. With people of strong faith, if could be hard to tell when they were talking about luck and when they were talking about truly miraculous interventions. She sincerely hoped this was the former.

Chancellor Roderick promptly shattered those hopes.

“Don’t tell me you believe this ‘Herald of Andraste’ talk,” he said.

“Herald of Andraste?” Signy said. She had a bad feeling about this.

“Yes. Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste,’” said the woman in gold. “The soldiers saw a woman behind you when you came out of the rift. People are now saying that was Andraste, which frightens the Chantry.”

Signy’s thoughts stuttered to a stop.

“You’re saying they think I’m some sort of chosen one.”

“That is the implication,” said the woman.

“No. No, that’s stupid. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Given the extraordinary events – ” gold-and-blue began, but Signy didn’t let her finish.

“I’m not just a mage, you know,” she said. “I’m elf-blooded. Doesn’t Chantry doctrine say elves are farther from the Maker? I bet some of that rubbed off on me. I’m a bastard, too. Whatever human screwed my mother didn’t even stick around. And let’s go back to the mage thing for a minute. I’m not even a good mage. I’m terrible. I barely passed my Harrowing. And I was in the Libertarian fraternity, pushing for mage freedom from the day I was a full member of the Circle. The Maker doesn’t like that, right? I’m not exactly an exemplary specimen of the Andrastian faithful. I am not special, and I am definitely not any sort of chosen one!”

“I don’t know about that,” said Cullen. Was he actually smiling a little? This was not funny! “Some of those things are pretty unusual.”

“Not in a good way!”

“But you can close the rifts,” he said. “And that matters a great deal more than whether you’re chosen or not.”

Signy put her face in her hands.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Join the Chantry? I’ll do what I can to help, but I’m not going to become a symbol for you, or for anyone else.”

Chancellor Roderick snorted. “None of this is for you to decide, Seeker, or you, Knight-Captain.” 

Signy's breath caught. The officer was a templar?

“That is no longer –” Cullen began, but Roderick interrupted him.

“We cannot ignore the hierarchy of the Chantry,” he said with an air of finality.

Signy looked up, hoping to gauge the others’ reactions. She couldn’t believe she was actually hoping Roderick would win at least this point. She had no place in the hierarchy he was talking about, and it wasn’t as though they could give her one.

Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a look, and Leliana smiled, just a little. Blue-and-gold’s face was the kind of careful mask Signy had seen on Lydia’s face a thousand times, usually when she was dealing with Templars. The officer was trying to hide a smirk.

Cassandra turned to a cabinet and removed a small chest covered with scaled black leather and banded in steel. A wax seal to the side of the lock cracked as she opened it and withdrew a thin sheaf of parchment pages.

“This is a writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act,” she said. She turned to Roderick. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

The Chancellor’s face was as white as sheet. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. Finally, he threw up his hands and left without a word, slamming the door behind him.

Signy felt about how Roderick looked.

“You’re refounding an order of mage hunters,” she said. She managed to keep her tone level, but only just. She was shocked she wasn’t shaking from fear and from anger. The Conclave had looked like an acknowledgement of mages as more than prisoners. So much for that. “I’ve read about the Inquisition. You’re refounding an order of mage hunters, and you expect me to  _ help  _ you?”

“The original Inquisition was not simply – ” Pentaghast started.

“Bullshit,” said Signy, pushing herself to her feet with the walking staff. Pentaghast looked like she couldn’t quite believe that Signy was both interrupting her and cursing at her. “Every reputable historian I’ve read, from LeTrec to Josephus to Ellian, agrees. The only half-way credible dissent I’ve seen is Genitivi, and he’s a dabbler in the field, not a real historian.”

“Historiography aside,” gold-and-blue said, "that is not our mandate. Our task must be to close the Breach, and we need your help.”

“You should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty,” Pentaghast said. “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

And she was the only one who could close the rifts. 

It was too much.

“I need to think about this,” she said, and fled the room.

As she closed the door behind her, Signy realized there was nowhere she could go. The people outside – the crowd, apparently convinced she was the ‘Herald of Andraste' – weren’t likely to leave her alone. She went into one of the side rooms off the transept.

It turned out to be a little shrine, maybe for private prayers. The stubs of a dozen candles sat below an colorful icon of Andraste with gilding on the eyes and haloing the head and hands. Signy lit one from a torch just outside the door, then shut herself in the room.

She sat in the room’s single chair and tried to focus on her breathing. Breathing exercises were one of the first things she had learned in the Circle: something to focus on, something to clear the mind. Before you could control magic, you had to control yourself. Maybe that was why she had never been a good mage: she had terrible control of herself, especially her temper.

Regardless, she couldn’t seem to calm her thoughts right now. For the first time in months, she turned to the icon and began a prayer.

“ _ Oh Maker, you have created me pure in soul _

_ You have shaped me _

_ And breathed me into mortal flesh _

_ And You protect me still, _ ” she recited, but the words felt like bile in her mouth. What good had the Chantry’s words ever done her? So she tried something new: she talked to Andraste.

“I believed in you when I was young, you know. Really, really believed in you. Even after they took me to the Circle. More then, maybe. I thought maybe if I prayed hard enough you would take the magic away.”

She drew her legs up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“But it didn’t. So I decided you weren’t really there. Maybe you left with the Maker. Maybe you’d never been there. But now they’re saying you’re not just still here, but you’ve chosen me. And you know what the sickest part of it is? I want to believe them. Because then maybe there’d be a reason you didn’t take the magic. Maybe there’d be a reason you left me in the Circle.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. What was she doing, talking to an icon like this? It wasn’t as though she really believed anyone was listening. She needed to think this through… except that there wasn’t much of a choice, was there? There were holes in the Veil, rifts that were letting demons into the world, and she was, at least for now, the only one who could close them. What would she be if she turned away from that?

They needed to close the main Breach, as soon as possible. Then she could get back to her life – whatever that meant. Maker knew she hadn’t had a plan past finding Lydia.

A few minutes later, Signy emerged from the shrine, face carefully composed, and fists unclenched. She walked the distance to the back room with slow, deliberate steps. Any minor shaking could be easily attributed to three days in bed.

When she opened the door, all eyes in the room turned toward her.

“There are conditions,” she said. “And they’re not minor. Meet them, and I’ll stay. I’ll help you close this Breach.”

After a moment of silence, Signy realized she they were waiting for her to continue.

“First, I’m not joining the Chantry. If that means I’m not officially with you, fine. I’ll still help. But I’m not going to be part of that hierarchy.”

“Second, I need help finding someone: Senior Enchanter Lydia of the Ostwick Circle. She would have been with the mage delegation, I’m sure of it. I need to know if she sur– if she’s well.”

“Third,” she said, and gulped. This was hard to ask, harder than she had expected. An instinctive thrill of fear shivered up her spine. “Third, I want to be part of the leadership. I’m not just another footsoldier, unique abilities aside. If you want me, then I’m personally making sure this isn’t a mage hunt.”

It was a bluff, all of it. She didn’t intend to walk away from a problem this big, even if they didn’t agree to her demands. But even if they knew that, she was fairly sure they wanted her as a willing participant, not a conscript. This should work. It had to.

Looks passed around the table.

“Let us address the simplest request first,” blue-and-gold said, and Signy didn’t miss the change in wording. “I am certain we can find Senior Enchanter Lydia.” She looked to Leliana, who nodded.

“I can begin inquiries immediately,” she said. “As for not joining the Chantry, no one can be compelled to take vows against their will. However, your last request – ”

“It’s not a request,” Signy interrupted.

“Your last condition,” Pentaghast said, “will require some discussion. Perhaps you could retire to your lodgings for a time?”

Signy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Now that she had made her decision and said her piece, her physical exhaustion was hitting her full force.

“Would you like an escort?” Cullen asked, and Signy had to make an effort to keep her expression neutral as she nodded. She wanted to face that crowd even less than she had before finding out what they thought she was.

 

Cullen himself didn’t walk Signy back to the cabin, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want to face that crowd alone, but she also didn’t want a Templar Knight-Captain at her back. Instead, an elven woman who introduced herself as Minaeve walked quietly beside her, politely deflecting the handful of people who approached rather than simply staring.

“I’ll have Adan come by,” Minaeve said when they reached the cabin. “He looked after you while you were asleep.”

Signy nodded numbly and sat down on the bed. Minaeve started to leave.

“Wait,” Signy said. “Before you go… what’s your part in all this?”

“All this?”

So she didn’t know about the Inquisition. She rephrased. “What are you doing in Haven?”

“Oh. I arrived a few days ago with Sister Leliana. She seems to think it’ll be handy to have an expert in exotic beasts.” After a moment, she added, “I was at the Circle at Ansburg.”

“But you weren’t with the rebellion?”

“No,” Minaeve said. “And I was just an apprentice. I’ll get Adan now.”

Adan turned out to be a grouchy middle-aged man who smelled of herbs.

“At least we won’t have to pour water down your throat now,” was the first thing he said to Signy. “Do you know how hard it is to keep an unconscious person hydrated? Because I didn’t enjoy finding out.” He left soon after, leaving her with a tea for her aches and telling her to drink plenty of water and not to eat any large meals for a while. After that, she found herself with nothing to do but wait.

It didn’t take as long as she expected. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, the woman in blue and gold came to see her.

“I don’t believe I properly introduced myself,” she said, “for which you have my apologies. I am Josephine Montilyet, of the Montilyets of Antiva City. I will be serving as chief diplomat for our Inquisition.”

“Are you here to let me down gently, then?” Signy asked. She was seated in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and had been drifting off when Montilyet had knocked. She hadn’t risen after calling for her to come in, though judging by the way the other woman said ‘Montilyets of Antiva City’ that was probably a breach of protocol.

“No. I am here to tell you that we accept your conditions.”

A thrill went through Signy like electricity, banishing her drowsiness. Logically, she had thought it likely they would agree, but she was so used to being in a powerless position that it felt almost alien to make a full-on demand and not be dismissed out of hand.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet,” Signy said, and now she did rise, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders as she stretched out a hand to shake. Montilyet hesitated – should Signy have bowed or curtsied instead? – but after a moment she took the hand and shook firmly.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Mistress Signy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prayer Signy starts to recite is based on the Elohai Neshamah, a particularly beautiful Jewish prayer.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please press the kudos button or, even better, leave a review (Even if it's just a heart emoji. I love heart emojis.).


	4. Into the Fold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO many thanks to my beta, [x_medea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_medea/pseuds/x_medea).

Brigid Trevelyan sat in the tent she had shared with Cordelia, aimlessly fiddling with her abacus. Cordelia had teased her for bringing the thing, asking if she was planning to do accounts on the road or keep track of the number of bootlickers surrounding the Divine. At the thought of her sister, Brigid dropped the abacus on the cot next to her and stood. 

Suvi, the maid the two of them had brought, was folding clothes near the brazier. She frowned when Brigid grabbed her bow and quiver and made to leave the tent.

“Milady, if you don’t mind my saying so --”

“I very much do mind,” Brigid said, her tone dead cold. She’d regret that later. She had practically grown up with Suvi, and with Cordelia gone she was the only person here that Brigid could talk to, at least about most things. But right now she just needed to get away.

Someone had set up archery butts against Haven’s outer wall in the last few days. Brigid claimed one and set to practicing.

_ Cordelia is dead, _ she told herself as the arrow hit the target, well off center, trying to make the fact feel real.

_ Cordelia is dead, _ and another arrow hit.

She pulled a third arrow from her quiver.

_ Cordelia is  _ \--

A horn trumpeted from inside the gate and people began moving into the village.

Brigid put the arrow back and slung her bow over her shoulder. What was happening now? With her luck, probably a Blight.

 

All of Haven must have gathered by the steps of the chantry, as well as at least half the remaining population of the camp that had risen around the village for the Conclave. On the steps stood five figures, and most prominent among them was Cassandra Pentaghast, easily identifiable by her surcoat with the heraldry of the Seekers of Truth. Brigid clamped down on a burst of anger at the sight of the woman. It had been Pentaghast who told her Cordelia had survived. And then, came back two days later, to say she was wrong. There had been a mistake. Hersister, the best woman Brigid knew, was dead after all.

Pentaghast was speaking, her voice ringing out across the crowd.

“...with the refounding of the Inquisition of old, we pledge ourselves to stand against chaos. We pledge to close the Breach, and to calm this troubled time. ”

“This was our beloved Divine’s last order, and it will be carried out. We must not despair in this time of trials. With faith and perseverance, we will triumph!” Despite the awkward wording, the Seeker’s passion came through clearly, and it was infectious. People around Brigid cheered, and the Seeker had to wait for them to quiet.

Nobody else was looking at the others. The bright red hair likely belonged to the woman who had been pointed out to Brigid as Sister Leliana, the Divine’s spymaster. Cordelia had called her an ‘agitator’ through pursed lips the way she did when she wanted to use stronger words. She wasn’t sure of the figure in gold and blue. The man with the fur-topped red mantle was the officer they’d sent to keep her away from the survivor this morning. And the one trying to look like she wasn’t leaning on a walking stick… it couldn’t be, could it? Brigid squinted, standing on her toes to try to get a better look.

It was the survivor. She couldn’t see her very well, but it was a tall woman with a long brown braid and the right lanky build.

“What is  _ she _ doing up there?” Brigid asked with a grimace. She had no reason to dislike the woman -- none of this was her fault -- but resentment lingered.

“Which one?” said a voice to her left. It belonged to a woman with short reddish hair who Brigid seen around a cabin they were turning into a tavern.

“The tall one with the braid.”

“Haven’t you heard?” the other woman said. “That’s the Herald of Andraste, the survivor of the Breach.” She sounded almost breathless.

Pentaghast was still speaking, but without a word Brigid turned and started pushing her way out of the crowd. She needed to shoot some more targets.

 

Cassandra Pentaghast, Signy decided, was better at giving speeches than writing them. Lady Montilyet had wanted time to rewrite Pentaghast’s draft, but Cullen had pointed out that the longer they waited the more potential recruits drifted away as the Conclave attendees packed up and left Haven. Signy and Pentaghast had agreed and, in their first informal vote, overruled Montilyet and Leliana.

After the somewhat awkwardly worded but passionately delivered speech, the five of them returned to the room at the back of the Chantry to discuss their first moves as an organization.

"It occurs to me I’m not clear on your position here, Lady Leliana,” Signy said as Cullen closed the door behind them. She focused on Leliana to avoid thinking about that: a templar shutting a door behind her. It was different this time. This wasn’t an interrogation

“Please, just Leliana,” the woman replied. “I am no lady. My position here involves a degree of--”

Pentaghast cut in. “She is our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana said.

For Signy, the word ‘spy’ conjured up templars watching her every move and encouraging her to report anything ‘suspicious’ to them. They’d had a broad definition of suspicious. 

“I didn’t realize we were planning to be involved in espionage,” said Signy. She wasn’t comfortable with the notion.

“Intelligence gathering is important,” Cullen said. “That doesn’t mean we’ll be putting the full range of bardic skills into play. We’re not planning to assassinate anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Leliana’s expression was very blank, which Signy found alarming. Hopefully the others would lean toward Cullen and Signy’s feelings on outright murder. For now, she let the matter drop.

Cullen's previously mentioned idea on how to proceed was simple: they needed to use as many contacts as possible to create the impression that the Inquisition was a legitimate organization if they wanted anyone to help them close the Breach. Presumably, they didn’t expect enough mages to come out of the woodwork on their own.

Unlike Signy, the rest of the group had an impressive number of friends and acquaintances across southern Thedas. It reminded Signy just how small her world, which until a few months ago had consisted solely of the other inhabitants of Ostwick’s Circle, was.

“Leliana,” Lady Montilyet said as bread and soft cheese were passed around for a light lunch, “I’m sorry to bring up something so personal, but the Warden--”

“I’ve had no word from Natia,” Leliana said, tone carefully controlled.

Signy stared.

“Natia Brosca? You know the Hero of Fereldan?”

Leliana stared at her for a moment, then broke out in a sudden grin.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?” Signy said.

Leliana shook her head, bemused. “Pardon me. It’s just so nice to be able to make my own first impression for once.”

“Sister Leliana fought beside the Hero of Fereldan,” Cullen said.

“Oh! I should have known that. The library at Ostwick wasn’t exactly up to date on recent history. I could tell you all about Fereldan’s rebellion against Orlais, but scholarly consensus on the Fifth Blight is still in its infancy and our librarian --”

Pentaghast cleared her throat and Signy blushed.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I get a bit excited about books, and history is a particular interest of mine.”

“So it would seem,” Cullen said. He looked like he was holding back a grin. “In any case, I believe we have a solid list to start from. Shall we adjourn?”

“Not quite yet,” Signy said. She had been waiting to bring this up the whole meeting, but she’d needed a better read on who she was dealing with before speaking of it. “We need to discuss Ayani.”

“The elf in the dungeon?” Lady Montilyet said.

“The self-proclaimed Dalish spy,” Pentaghast said. “We need to decide what to do with her, but it can wait.”

“I’d rather it didn’t,” Signy said, shuffling through her notes so she would have something to do with her hands. “We were both in Grand Cleric Martine’s employ, and I can assure you that she had no opportunity to learn anything particularly important.”

“How can you be sure?” Cullen asked.

“We cannot,” Leliana said before Signy could reply. “But given that she freely admitted to spying, a good first step might be simply to ask her. Mistress Signy, would you say you have some rapport with this woman?”

“Yes,” said Signy. “She mostly kept to herself, but on the way here the other servants wouldn’t sleep in a tent with an elf, so we ended up sharing on the road. It’s hard not to get to know someone in a situation like that. I had thought we were friends.”

“Then I will draw up a list of questions for you,” Leliana said, then caught herself. “Assuming, of course, that you are willing to conduct the interrogation?”

“I’ll talk to her,” Signy said. “After all, we were both sneaking around in Martine’s staff. Maybe we’ll find out we have even more in common.”

 

Brigid knew she needed to talk to the survivor, but she didn’t want to. She couldn’t help feeling that this woman had somehow cheated her sister out of survival. It made no sense, but that was how she felt, and it wouldn’t go away. Nonetheless, she resolved to speak to the woman, whose name she had learned was Signy, as soon as possible.

After being informed at the doors of the chantry that ‘the Inquisition’s leaders were in council’ -- and how had this woman insinuated herself into the leadership so quickly? -- Brigid sat on a pew to wait. And wait. And wait. And wait some more. She had nearly dozed off when the door at the back of the chantry opened and the ‘leadership’ emerged.

The survivor came out last, leaning on her walking stick and reading from a sheaf of paper. Brigid stood to approach her, but someone beat her to it.

The man was wearing a bright yellow Orlesian noble’s mask, and apparently didn’t believe in speaking more quietly indoors.

"Lady Cordelia?” he said, and Brigid ground her teeth. “I believe we met at your great-aunt’s summer ball a few years ago,” the man continued.

It looked like the survivor was having as much trouble believing this was happening as Brigid was.

“Excuse me?” she said, clearly off balance.

Brigid crossed the room toward them.

“Marquis Francisque DuRellion,” the man said. “I know the masks make it difficult for foreigners.” Brigid could all but see his condescending smile. “My lady, surely these rumors I hear of your involvement in this ‘Inquisition’ cannot be true! Your lord father -- “

“Cordelia is dead.” 

It was the first time Brigid had said it aloud.

DuRellion turned and looked her up and down before speaking. The survivor turned to look as well, and Brigid glanced away to avoid looking at the woman’s face.

“I beg your pardon, Mistress …?” 

Great. He could mistake this woman in her simple trousers and woolen shirt for Cordelia, but Brigid he assumed to be a commoner. To be fair, she wasn’t exactly dressed for a ball herself. It still stung.

“I am Lady Brigid Trevelyan. My sister is dead. You are addressing Mistress Signy, who I believe was just leaving.” She shot the survivor a look that wasn’t quite a glare and received a quizzical one in return before the other woman left through a door on the side of the nave.

The marquis started babbling, a combination of apologies and vague personal questions, but Brigid found herself staring after the survivor rather than listening. She looked  _ so much _ like Cordelia. Her face was the same shape, with high cheekbones and a sharply pointed chin, and she had the same eyes Cordelia and Brigid had gotten from their father. Who was this woman?

Brigid went back to her tent. She had letters to write.

 

How do you tell your mother her firstborn child is dead? How do you tell your father? They were two separate questions and each would require a separate answer, since she’d have to write to her father at the city house and her mother at the country estate. She should probably write at least a note to Elodie as well. She might not formally be part of the family, but Brigid’s mother’s mistress had been close with Cordelia. She was more than that to Brigid. She’d been more of a parent than her father, who rarely visited the country estate where Brigid grew up, had ever been.

Not for the first time, Brigid wished her family was a bit less complicated.

_ And it may be more complicated than I realized. _

How, she wondered, was she supposed to ask her father if he had an illegitimate daughter? Especially right after they had all lost Cordelia? She supposed she couldn’t, not really. It would have to wait.

Cordelia’s little girl, at least, wouldn’t require a separate written message. A two-year-old would be better served by her grandparents’ words than Brigid’s. Brigid was grateful for that. She didn’t want to think about what it would be like for Olivia now, with both of her parents gone.

Brigid a decision to make, she realized as she stirred the inkwell with her quill pen. She needed to decide if she was going home or staying here. Because regardless of the survivor’s involvement, or Pentaghast’s, there was something terrible here that needed to be fixed. Could Brigid in good conscience not do her part?

Then again, what was her part? What use could she be? She was good with a bow, which probably wouldn’t be any use if the Breach was closed for now, and she was good with numbers. That part might be of more use. She’d been doing the accounts for the Trevelyans’ country estate for three years now, since she turned twenty-one. She could help with something similar here.

_ And there is the other thing, _ part of her whispered. She squashed it down, not allowing herself to even think the word.

Suvi entered, carrying dinner. It was simple fare, roast chicken and turnips with a chunk of fresh brown bread. She set the tray down next to the still-blank paper on the desk where Brigid sat.

“Thank you,” Brigid said. “And I’m sorry about earlier. That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“It’s fine, milady,” Suvi said.

“But you have to say that,” Brigid pointed out, shifting the paper so she could eat before her food got cold.

“Still, milady, it’s fine,” Suvi said. Brigid wondered if she meant it.

As she ate, she tried to outline her letters mentally as she ate. Her father’s would be the most difficult. She had never known how to talk to him. She needed to tell him Cordelia was gone, first and foremost. That would actually be the easiest part, because she could be honest about her own feelings of grief. But then she had to tell him that she was staying.

When had she decided she was staying? Maybe it had been during her brief conversation -- if you could call it that -- with Suvi. Maybe she wanted to know if she could handle herself without the supports of being the Bann’s daughter. 

She would write her letters to her parents, and a note to each of her siblings and Elodie, and she would stay, and find out what she was capable of being on her own, without even Cordelia.

She had made her decision. She was staying.


End file.
